


Wolf Queen

by cassielissie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassielissie/pseuds/cassielissie
Summary: Arya doesn’t escape the Twins, and the Hound finds a new outlet for revenge. AU – Divergent after The Red Wedding. Mostly follows the show but takes some liberty from the books as well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first GOT fanfic I am publishing so please leave me some feedback!

_Fire and Blood_. _Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood._

When they had seen her brother’s body like that, mutilated with the wolf head on it, he couldn’t hold onto her. She jumped off Stranger, eyes so filled with tears she could hardly see. He dismounted right after her, and attempted to run after her. He wanted to grab her little arm and pull her back. Back onto the horse, and out of the twins. But it was too late.

The little Stark girl was screaming profanities at the cheering men. They were chanting about their victory. One Frey didn’t seem to mind at all how young Arya was. He probably thought that she was a boy, like nearly everyone else they had passed on the road. The Frey man hit Arya upside the head with his sword, and Arya hit the ground hard. The Frey was drunk, dirty, and had a crooked nose just like his father.

In the few seconds it took Sandor to reach her, Arya was already lying in a bloody puddle. Sandor cut down the ugly man in a single blow, his sword glistening with blood, and scooped up Arya. He ran for Stranger, galloping out of the Twins with one hand on the reigns and the other wrapped tightly around Arya.

Sandor rode fast, but even in the woods he could still see the blazing fires around the camp and knew how many Starks and Northmen were laying there waiting to die. When they were far enough away into the woods, where the fires were barely visible, Sandor took a moment to see if Arya was even breathing. Her eyes were wide open, but the back of her hair was soaking wet, and her skin was already becoming cold to the touch. He held her there for some time, searching her unseeing eyes for life. Sandor shook her once to wake her, then again, and again. But Arya did not take another breath, and her blood started to dry, caking the back of her head.

_She hated me to the end._

Sandor had nowhere to go, and he had no idea how he could have failed so badly. He had saved her time and time again, and in one instant it all fell apart. There would be no more ransom, because there were no more Starks. He was a wanted man, with no money and now no prospects. He couldn’t go North, the Northmen hated him. He couldn’t go south, as the Lannisters wanted him. He had no money to cross the narrow sea, and he cursed his brother again for giving him an indistinguishable mark of dishonor.

Unsure of what to do next, and too tired to travel, Sandor dug Arya a shallow grave with just his hands, buried her small body with no markings of any kind, and fell asleep on the ground next to her.

He woke hours later, to a cold nose pressed against his neck. Sandor sat up and made eye contact with a wolf, a wolf almost as big as himself. Its fur was dark gray, and its golden eyes seemed to be making eye contact with Sandor. _Fucking hell._ The wolf blew out hot air from its nose onto Sandor’s burned face, and Sandor pushed himself back from it and reached for his sword. But the wolf paid him no mind. Instead, the wolf sniffed the ground, and began digging where Arya’s body was hidden. 

The wolf dug quickly, and began whining. Arya’s body was shallow enough in the ground that it took the wolf hardly any time at all to uncover her face. When The Hound and the gray wolf saw the unmoving eyes that Sandor had closed, and white pale skin, the wolf unleashed a howl like no other. It was mourning, and Sandor knew this was no regular wolf, but a direwolf of House Stark. It could even have been the wolf pup he met when Arya was just a girl. Her own hound protector. The wolf whined, and lay down on top of Arya’s body.

From the woods came many more wolves, seemingly a hundred, but none as big as the one guarding Arya’s body. The others began to whimper and howl, mourning for the little wolf girl. They were mourning for what she could have, no, should have become. Were they also howling for Robb Stark’s wolf, the head now sewn onto a human body? Could they smell it on the wind? Sandor thought, _the little wolf girl is their wolf queen._

The look in the direwolves eyes told him to leave, so Sandor quickly mounted Stranger. The wolves in the woods let him go, instead of attacking him or Stranger they stood their ground and they cried as they mourned. The wolves were the last of the true northmen, and now there were no more Starks. And with a start, Sandor realized something.

_No more Starks except for one._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery and Sansa talk about love.

“Lady Sansa! Please come sit with us!”

Sansa turned to look across the garden and saw Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna were calling to her. Lady Margaery was sitting in her beautiful pale green dress, it showed off her freckled shoulders and was cut low across the top of her chest. Margaery had her soft brown hair pulled back, and of course a golden rose necklace with faux thorns.

Sansa was wearing a deeper green gown, one that complimented the true redness of her own hair. Her dress was nowhere near as fine as Margaery’s, so Sansa self-consciously felt the fabric between her fingers. Her mind was whisked away as she recalled wearing the same dress to the Hand’s Tourney. She remembered that the Hound had beat Ser Loras, and felt herself drifting to thoughts of Sandor Clegane. But Margaery’s sweet smile brought Sansa back to the present.

“Lady Sansa, you look beautiful as ever.” Margaery held her arms out and stood up from the table, placing her delicate hands on either side of Sansa’s face. Now that they were closer, Margaery gave Sansa a small, sad smile. They two had become quite good friends, after they had discussed Joffrey’s true nature, as well as Sansa’s grieving for the death of her family members.

“Thank you Lady Margaery. You are too kind.” Sansa knew that she had dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and that her gown was worn and out of fashion. Sansa’s hair was no longer intricately done every morning, but Sansa appreciated Margaery’s kindness. Sansa’s handmaidens would often ask her about updating her hair to this style or that, but when she felt other’s hands on her hair she became restless.

She and Lady Margaery had become accustomed to walking around the gardens of the Red Keep, or taking boat rides along the harbor and today would be no exception. Margaery was to be married in only a few days, and Sansa knew that once her confidant became Queen, things between them would change. Margaery would become too busy to spend time with Sansa, but Sansa did not envy her.

“My grandmother and I have a gift for you. We have been waiting all morning for you to come by.” Margaery gave Olenna a sly smile, and beckoned her handmaidens to bring over Sansa’s gifts. Two of the maids brought over a trunk, and opened the lid. Inside were many gowns, the two on top were silken gowns, and Sansa noticed one had a small wolf embroidered on the sleeve.

“Lady Margaery, I cannot thank you enough. This is… incredible.” Sansa wanted to sift through the trunk, and feel each one against her skin.

“Well, I hope you will find something to your liking that you can wear to my wedding.” Margaery beamed, “I _should_ have had a talk with your husband about how he needs to treat a woman to nice things, but grandmother thought we could take care of that ourselves.” Lady Olenna nodded in agreement.

“You can go take that trunk up to her room now.” Lady Olenna commanded the handmaidens, giving the three ladies privacy. After they were out of earshot, “Apparently your _husband_ is too busy as Lord Hand to notice what his wife needs.”

“Grandmother…” Margaery started to protest, but Sansa held up her hand.

“I am not offended. Lord Tyrion admits to me as well that he almost never sees me himself. But I guess next time I will have to have my _own_ maids put in a word for me.” Sansa put the truth plainly, they still hadn’t shared a bed and she hoped they never would. Sansa let out a small laugh, thinking about how far from her childhood marriage fantasies she truly was.

The three women discussed more wedding ceremony preparations, who would sit where at the feast, what houses wouldn’t show up and what retribution they would have to pay, before Lady Olenna decided to go back to her chambers.

When the two young women were alone, Margaery turned to Sansa with some seriousness. “Sansa, do you think you will come to love Tyrion?”

Sansa bit her tongue, thinking of how the imp was kind, but still disgusting to her. “I-I think I could. He is very kind to me. He doesn’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, except for stay here.” Sansa pursed her lips, and folded her hands in her lap, sitting further back in her chair.

“Sansa I am sorry, I don’t mean to push you. I worry, do all women come to love their husbands? Grandmother says that doesn’t matter. But I know it does.” Margaery got a faraway look in her eyes and whispered close to Sansa’s ear, “I know I would have come to love Renly.”

Sansa nodded her head and closed her eyes. The two sat in silence for a moment. She knew Margaery was asking if she could come to love Joffrey, but Sansa didn’t think that would ever be possible. Margaery was kind, and Joffrey would hurt her someday in a way that Margaery might never recover from. Every day, Sansa grew more fearful for Margaery’s safety. What if something happened with Margaery’s own family? Would Joffrey show Margaery her father’s head on a spike too?

“Sansa…”

“Yes, Lady Margaery?”

“Is there a man you loved? I can promise that I won’t tell the Lord Hand.” Margaery winked and pulled Sansa’s hand into her own. Sansa’s heart started to beat a bit faster, and her stomach churned a bit.

“When I first came here, I felt that I would surely love Joffrey, or maybe even your brother.” Sansa’s cheeks reddened, feeling embarrassed. Margaery just let out a small laugh. “Ser Loras gave me a rose at the Hand’s Tourney and I felt very in love then.” 

“Then? What could my brother have possibly done to lose your affection?” Margaery put on her signature smirk, and Sansa began to feel more at ease.

“Oh he did not do anything, Ser Loras is kind and sweet, and of course very handsome.” Sansa did not want to offend Margaery, her closest and seemingly only remaining friend.

“So what happened? Did another man endear you more?” Sansa began to question the same things Margaery was asking her, did Margaery only believe in marriage for duty? For Sansa, marriage was survival. Could it be the same for her friend? “Oh, I know! Someone kissed you, didn’t he?” Sansa’s eyes went wide.

“Well, a Knight did kiss me once.” Sansa whispered very low. “After the Battle of Blackwater. I think he thought we were all going to die, and he came up to my chambers and kissed me.”

Margaery gasped, “Who? Oh wait, please let me guess.” Margaery clasped her hands together and sat still for a moment, “Ser Osmund Kettleblack?” Margaery narrowed her eyes and Sansa blushed deeply.

“It was actually, The Hound. Before he fled the city he asked me to go with him.” Sansa’s heart was pounding again, remembering the incident. It seemed no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay at ease thinking about other men. She was married now, and had to be respectful of Tyrion. Besides, they were in a dangerous place. But she couldn’t help remembering how often she dreamed about the kiss. She couldn’t believe she had put the incident into words.

“Sansa, did he try to hurt you? And he tried to take you out of King’s Landing?” Margaery’s eyes were full of concern. “I heard horrible things about the Hound and his brother.”

“No, no, in fact, he was usually very kind and gentle to me. Well, he was threatening sometimes don’t worry he didn't hurt me.”

“And, he kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“Was that your first kiss with a man?” Sansa thought about how Margaery had been married to another King before, and now she would marry another. And the only man Sansa had kissed was Sandor Clegane. Sansa wanted to protest, make something up about living in Winterfell, but her hesitation told Margaery all that she needed to know. “Sansa, I-“

This time, Sansa took Margaery’s hand into her own.

“It was not violent, or scary, Lady Margaery. It was just a kiss.” A kiss that made her stomach turn, and a kiss that made her dream of far too vulgar things.

“Do you think he was in love with you?”

Sansa’s blue eyes flicked out to the sea behind them. She just shrugged at Margaery’s question. Where was he now? Would she have heard of his death by now if he had died? 

“He was drunk when he kissed me, I don’t know that he was thinking clearly. But he had helped me many times before here, saved me from awful things.”

Margaery pouted a bit, “Or, he was thinking _very_ clearly.” Margaery pushed herself back from the table and stood up. She pressed her skirts down and took one more look around the terrace. “Should we get going now? It is nearly time for dinner.”

Sansa pulled her eyes from the ocean, and nodded in agreement. The two made their way back to the castle, taking a turn through the gardens. Sansa was surprised at how little preparation Margaery had to do for her own wedding. But, Sansa supposed, Margaery _was_ almost queen of course. She shouldn’t have to do anything for herself.

When the two women arrived at the castle, a flock of noblemen and women were heading to the throne room. Everyone was talking in hushed whispers.

“Shall we join them? See what could be happening?” Margaery increased her pace, and Sansa did to match her. They could hear Tywin speaking from the throne.

“You have committed treason against House Lannister. You deserted your sworn house at the Battle of Blackwater, and failed in your duties to protect King Joffrey.” Tywin’s booming voice could not contain the surprise of the crowd. “I take it you will demand a trial by combat?”

And when they entered the throne room, Sansa nearly fell to her knees in shock, as kneeling before the throne was Sandor Clegane himself.


End file.
